Date Night
by Sendai
Summary: John plans a date with his asexual, sociopathic flatmate. All does not run smoothly. Can Sherlock and John make their way through date night. This is fluffy slash for Christmas. Rated T for language, snogging and mild adult references. Now Complete!Merry Christmas!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **This is a bit of fluff for Christmas. I was forced to write it after I was assaulted by Christmas music at my local supermarket. Lets pretend it was a Tesco even though I am firmly rooted in the USA. I am planning two to three chapters and aim for a T-rating. (It may need to be up graded later.) I have no Beta nor has this been Brit-picked, so please correct me when necessary. Also this is slash; it's all I am capable of writing. I hope you enjoy it.**  
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**Ritual Disclaimer **Sadly, I do not own the rights to Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. Those rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss.

**Date Night**

**Chapter 1**

John hung the last strand of fairy lights across the mantle. A small tree, hung with garland and ornaments from Tesco, stood in the corner near the window. Christmas music and a cheery fire completed the festive scene.

John waited eagerly for the return of his flatmate. OK, eager was not the right word. Cautiously might be the better word, or better yet anxiously. Yes John waited anxiously.

No doubt Sherlock would dismiss the decorations as tedious reminders of a holiday that commemorates a false religion or some such drivel. John could deal with that and the accompanying complaints about the clutter and mess. As if the flat was not already cluttered with books, papers, experiments, harpoons and skulls.

No John was anxious for another reason. Tonight was The Night. He was going to finally confess his feelings of love and attraction to his male, sociopathic, asexual, married friend. Well Sherlock was only married to his work, but maybe that made it even more hopeless. Quickly, John said a short prayer to Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.

After pacing for several minutes in a reasonable imitation of said flatmate. John ran upstairs to his bedroom to check out his new ensemble.

He had intended to buy a new suit for the occasion but felt he looked ridiculous in every one that he tried on. There was no way he could compete with Sherlock's elegance. So he settled on the tightest black jeans that he could find, accompanied by a skin-tight black silk tee-shirt and a hand tailored navy sports coat. The completed outfit had fit him perfectly, making him "delectable" according to the tailor. Then the smirking tailor had asked John out for coffee; John blushed at the memory.

That was fine, really, just fine. It meant that the ensemble was attractive. John desperately wanted to be attractive tonight.

He checked his new boots; a sales clerk assured him that they were the height of fashion. Then, with nothing left to check, he returned to the sitting room to pace in time to Feliz Navidad.

Sherlock stormed up the stairs in a funk. The tantalizing level 8 case brought to him by Lestrade had fizzled to a 2.6. Case solved. Nothing to do, he was bored already.

He strode into the sitting room and was accosted by tawdry Christmas decorations and the travesty of music on the radio.

"John, please put an end to that caterwauling from the radio. It is enough that my eyes are assaulted by the twinkling of your festive lights. Surely my ears can be spared another pointless rendition of Deck the Halls." Sherlock flung himself onto the sofa, his dark curly hair bouncing into his eyes.

Sherlock shut his eyes when the music abruptly ceased. He secretly enjoyed John's Christmas decorations. It made the flat seem like home. He had very much missed this comfortable feeling during his years away. He had very, very much missed his flatmate and best friend.

After his two-year absence, Sherlock had been amazed and relieved that John was still living at 221B Baker Street and that John seemingly wanted Sherlock back as his friend and flatmate.

"So your case went well? It's already over?" asked John from his chair near the fire. Sherlock noted John's nervous tension in his furrowed brow and the fidgety drumming of his fingers. Why? Why is John nervous? He is going to tell me something, thought Sherlock, something I won't like.

"Yes it's over. It was nothing; Anderson should have been able to deduce this one. The murderer practically signed his name at the scene of the crime. He's in police custody, and I am bored. Bored!" exclaimed the exasperated detective.

Sherlock continued, "I see that you have recently showered, shaved and put on your favorite aftershave. Also you have been pacing." He glanced at John sideways; he knew that John did not like to be deduced. "You finished decorating early and have not prepared or ordered dinner. Obviously you are going out for dinner. So, going out on a date then. It must be a first date, given the pacing, so someone new. Is it that new receptionist at the surgery? You told Lestrade that you admired her hair and her figure."

Sherlock turned to see the effect this had on his flatmate. He hoped to irritate John since John was going to irritate him by abandoning Sherlock for a frivolous date.

Good John was blushing and rubbing his hands together. Serves John right leaving me to be bored to death. I'll probably die before his date ends in its inevitable failure.

"Sherlock you didn't hear a word I said," groused John. He chewed his lower lip in frustration. Sherlock suddenly wanted to chew on John's lip too. He quickly rejected the thought and tried, without success, to delete it.

"Sherlock, I said yes I am going out to dinner. I have tried twice now to ask if you will come with me to dinner. I made reservations. I got tickets to see the Nutcracker Suite," Johns blue eyes shone with affection as he smiled at the stroppy man strewn atop the sofa. "So will you come?" John asked.

Oh. Is this a date? Is John asking me on a date? Sherlock thought frantically. No, John is straight. Besides what if a date didn't work out? Sherlock could not risk losing his best and only friend. Any attempt at romance between the two roommates was bound to fail, and then John would leave.

"No John, I don't think so. Tchaikovsky is an overrated composer with trite and predictable music. The Nutcracker is not even one of his better pieces. He himself did not care for the work," Sherlock said watching John's hopeful expression change to anger, then hurt and disappointment. "Besides it's going to snow tonight. We are much better staying in tonight."

John carefully arranged his face in a neutral mask, one that he had perfected during his years in the military. John tilted his chin up defensively. He was used to hurt; he hadn't really expected this to work out well anyway. But surely the consulting detective could have agreed to dinner and the ballet, just to avoid boredom.

"Sherlock you just said that you were bored," said John evenly. "This is dinner and music, and by the way the Orchestra received very high praise from the reviewers. It will be less dull for you if you go out and do something until the next case comes around."

"No John, I think not. It is easier to tolerate boredom here. At least I won't have to put up with dull people and their insufferable prattle," answered Sherlock. John's mouth twisted in pain and he covered his eyes briefly in defeat. Then the neutral mask returned.

"Suit yourself Sherlock," John gave Sherlock a weak smile that did not reach his eyes. "I'm going upstairs to put on some clean clothes. If you change your mind, I'll be leaving in 25 minutes."

John went up stairs with the bitter taste of rejection in his mouth. God, couldn't Sherlock have let me down easily? So I'm a dull person who prattles insufferably. Oh God I must have misread all the clues as usual. How could I ever have thought that Sherlock Holmes would be interested in me.

I'm a loser with a capital L.

John put on his new ensemble and denied that his eyes were tearing. It must be an allergy bothering his eyes, probably from Mrs. Hudson's new lemon scented cleaner.

Sherlock was acutely aware of the hurt and defeat in John's eyes when he left to go upstairs. Sherlock had managed to hurt the one person he actually cared about.

It's for John's own good, Sherlock justified to himself. I would be a terrible romantic partner. I'm selfish and self-centered. I would ignore John's feelings and needs, at least while I'm working on a case. The rest of the time, I would be jealous and possessive. I don't have any experience in keeping a relationship going. I couldn't stand it if we started a relationship and then it didn't work.

Then there was the physical side of a relationship. Sherlock had tried sex and found it messy and emotionally draining. Yes the physical sensations had been pleasant but without emotional ties, the experiences left him feeling empty.

Of course _that _wouldn't happen here. The emotional ties between the two friends were already forged from steel and titanium.

Not to mention that Sherlock had never felt this attracted to another man before. Thoughts of biting John's lower lip were the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Sherlock thought about John's hair. How it felt the few times it brushed his hands-the one time it brushed his chin and sent chills down his spine and into his groin. Sherlock thought about how John's strong, capable hands would feel on his body. And John's body, trim and muscular and…

And that lead to the next very good reason not to pursue a relationship with John. John was too distracting; sometimes he distracted Sherlock from The Work. If John was distracting now, what would it be like once Sherlock got a hold of that tight and oh so attractive body?

Besides, John was straight. He had said so 119 times to Sherlock's certain knowledge, although he hadn't mentioned it once since Sherlock's return. Still, I've worked myself up for nothing. This was not a date; John simply desired my company as a friend. John has plenty of dates and always with women. Of course John's last date with a woman was before The Fall, as John called it. It is possible that John is a bit more flexible in his gender preferences than I previously imagined.

Nevertheless, the other reasons remain; it would be best to keep our relationship on a firm but friendly footing. I have managed to bury my feelings and desires before. I will do so again.

There, I have all but forgotten my ridiculous feelings. I shall now lay here and be bored. Perhaps I will search for my emergency cigarette supply after John departs.

"Sherlock, I said I am leaving now. Don't you ever hear me? I guess you block out all that insufferable prattle," said John with an affectionate smile on his face, however the crease between his reddened eyes revealed his unhappiness. He smoothed the front of his new navy blue coat. It emphasized his broad shoulders. His jeans were tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Sherlock watched John's arse move when John walked over to the table to get his wallet and keys.

"Sherlock, what are you staring at? I said, I will be home probably after 2300 hours; I mean 11 o'clock. OK? I have my mobile if you need anything. Right?" John forced another smile for his silent, wide-eyed flatmate.

"So everything's alright?" John asked again. Sherlock is unusually silent, and what the hell is he staring at?

"Fine, I'm fine," said Sherlock at last. "John I never meant that your prattle was insufferable."

"Um, right. Good night Sherlock," said John, shaking his head. The way Sherlock was staring; something must be off with this outfit. John checked his reflection in the door feeling like a fool. He was fool who had wasted two paychecks on awful, unattractive clothing and tickets for trite, predictable music. Then John headed out, slamming the door in frustration and despair.

"John, wait!" yelled Sherlock surging to his feet. The door slammed shut. Sherlock rushed to the window. John marched stiffly down the street. Marching was not a good sign. John had also neglected to put on an overcoat. A few snowflakes fell as Sherlock watched John's blond head disappear around the corner.

Stupid. I am so stupid. Of course it was a date. John has never, ever dressed so well or looked so good. He obviously wanted me to come with him as his date. I rejected him. I hurt him for nothing because now I want to go as his date.

I am an idiot. John is much less distracting when I can watch over him. I should arrange to have him with me 24/7. Now I have to worry about him.

Wearing that outfit, he'll probably be attacked by a sex fiend. Then again, he could be robbed; he never pays enough attention to his surroundings. Of course, he'll never be able to get a taxi on his own and he'll have to walk and tire his leg out or worse get hit by a bus. If nothing else, John will freeze to death because he forgot to put on a jacket.

The way he looks tonight, John will certainly be picked up by someone. He'll fall in love with them and leave me. I'll never find another friend. I'll never know what his lips taste like or how his skin would feel under my hands.

I am risking losing John by not dating him. Idiot. Stupid idiot.

Sherlock frantically punched in the number for Mycroft's phone.

"Mycroft, I need to go to the Nutcracker Ballet. I need you to get me in there tonight…Please," demanded Sherlock."

"Good evening to you Sherlock. I assume this has to do with a case you're working on?" drawled Mycroft.

"Yes, of course. Can you get me in?" asked Sherlock who simultaneously looked up the ballet's time and location on John's handy laptop.

"I see that Dr. Watson already has two seats booked for tonight's performance Sherlock. I hope that this isn't a plot to sabotage another of the doctor's dates?" asked Mycroft.

"No of course not. Can you get me in or not?" snapped Sherlock.

"Sherlock, Dr. Watson was spotted on CCTV leaving your flat wearing a very expensive, tailored, new coat, and he has reserved seats for two at the ballet. The doctor is surely not a fan of ballet. He is on a date, and I will not assist you in disrupting it," said the British Government with finality.

Sherlock sighed; he hated asking Mycroft for anything. He really hated letting Mycroft in on his personal life. Sherlock remembered John's nervousness and shining blue eyes before Sherlock rejected him. Then Sherlock remembered the defeated look on John's face afterwards, and John's red eyes. Oh God, I made him cry? Then John marched away, brave but alone. Unacceptable. John is worth any sacrifice, even if I have to bow to the almighty Mycroft.

"Mycroft, I was supposed to be with John tonight," spat Sherlock, his face rigid with effort, his neck muscles taut. "I made a mistake. I was supposed to be his date. I would like to remedy my mistake. Will you assist me or not?"

Mycroft was silent as the earth shifted in its orbit. The mighty Sherlock Holmes had asked for assistance, admitted that he made a mistake and announced that he was finally going on a date with John Watson, all in the same evening.

"Yes of course Sherlock. You now have a ticket waiting for you. Have a pleasant evening and good night," said Mycroft shaking his head in amazement.

Sherlock ran to dress for date night.

**TBC**

**A/N **Reviews greatly appreciated ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Ritual Disclaimer **I own no rights to Sherlock Holmes. The rights clearly belong to ACD, Messers Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC.

**Chapter 2**

John sat at his specially reserved front table at Angelo's. The romantic candle flickered feebly. John pursed his lips and irrationally glared at the innocent candle; then he glared at his stupid risotto. I don't know why I even stopped here. I'm not hungry.

John played with his risotto and picked out the mushrooms to eat. Sherlock is probably still stretched out on the sofa. Silly, stroppy Sherlock. I should have stayed home with the silly man. At least I'd be able to watch him instead of a bunch of strangers.

Now I'll have to fight the snow, and for what? I don't know anything about ballet anyway. If it wasn't so pathetic, I'd go home right now.

John sighed, and didn't notice the man at the bar who smiled at John and tried to catch his attention. John did not hear the giggles of the three tipsy women who had been ogling him for the past twenty minutes.

John looked up as Angelo sat down at John's table. He had two glasses of wine, one for John and one for himself.

"So Dr. Watson, eating alone tonight?" asked Angelo.

John sipped the red wine and grunted noncommittally in answer.

"Lover's quarrel, eh?" suggested the large restaurateur.

"Look Sherlock and I aren't... He isn't... I tried Angelo, I hoped that tonight…" John sighed and downed more wine. "Seriously Angelo, it just isn't going to work. He isn't interested,"

John tried for a change in topic; he was uncomfortable discussing his private life in public, 'Hey Angelo, you are doing a booming business tonight. Look at this crowd. And this wine is delicious, thank you for bringing it over." John raised his chin and gave flashed Angelo one of his best fake smiles.

"Dr. Watson…" said Angelo.

"For heaven's sake, please call me John," said John.

"John," said Angelo again after sipping his wine. "I know what I see, and I see that you two are a couple. Maybe he just needs another nudge. My Tony, he's a soldier. He always says, "A soldier doesn't give up". You're a soldier; so you don't give up either."

"Right, a soldier doesn't give up. So I'll try again sometime. I know, once a year I'll ask him out, or maybe I'll stage a mystery for him to solve and the prize will be me. Ha! That would be funny," John forced himself to smile again. "Say Angelo, have you ever been to a ballet?"

"Only if you count my nieces' dance recitals," answered Angelo. "How about you?"

"No. Never before, but I'm going to see one in 40 minutes. I have no idea of what to expect, bunch of grown men and women running around in tights," said John ruefully unconsciously messing up his hair. "I better get a move on, but thanks so much for your company Angelo."

"Dr. Watson, put your wallet away, you know your money is no good here," said Angelo.

"John, please call me John. And I will pay tonight, Sherlock isn't even here, and you took the time to bring me out of my funk," John placed his money on the table with a genuine smile and said, "So there."

"You're a stubborn man John. I think our detective may have met his match in you. You wait and see," said Angelo with a knowing grin. "Now you finish your glass of wine; you'll need it if your ballet is anything like my nieces' recitals. I'll catch you a taxi. You know, you shouldn't be out in that snow without a jacket."

John finished the wine and stood to leave. A strange man at the bar leered at him and a table of three women stared and giggled at him. He waved back with a sickly smile on his face. They waved and giggled harder.

Outside, Angelo had John's taxi waiting. "Angelo, is there something wrong with my hair, are my clothes that awful? I mean, people in there were staring

Angelo began to chuckle, "Those women just wanted to get to know you, they asked Gina for your name. That blond bloke wanted to send a drink over to you. I guess maybe you look all right to them. Now, you best get into the cab or you'll miss all the men in tights," Angelo laughed.

Shortly after John left the restaurant, Sherlock burst into Angelo's and dusted the snow out of his dark curls and off his long dark coat. He could tell in a glance that John was not present but had been recently. He knew because all the staff looked at Sherlock with hostile, narrowed eyes.

Angelo stepped over to him and shook his hand. Even Angelo's smile was a bit anemic, "Sherlock Holmes, would you like a table?"

"No I'm looking for Dr. Watson. I see that he was here this evening but left at least 10 minutes ago since you've already sat a new party at Watson's table," said Sherlock.

"Right as usual Sherlock. I put the doctor in a taxi myself," said Angelo. He noted Sherlock's questioning sideways glance. Angelo continued sotto voce, "I felt it best to get him out before that gaggle of women descended on him, not to mention that tall blond guy in the corner. Your Dr. Watson was catching everyone's eye tonight."

Sherlock straightened himself up and allowed himself a single death glare at the man in the corner. The man paled and looked around uncertainly. The group of women did not seem threatening enough to warrant a glare.

"Well I need to leave now Angelo. I intend to meet Dr. Watson at the ballet," the staff began to smile at Sherlock now and even Angelo seemed happier. How absurd, thought Sherlock.

'Can I get you a taxi?" Angelo was beaming. "It's so cold tonight, and do you know that doctor of yours is running around with no jacket?"

"No, I can get my own cab, and yes it's cold, and yes I know he forgot his jacket. I have John's jacket here," Sherlock held up a shopping bag, mock bowed and swirled out the door.

Sherlock stepped out into the swirling snow and raised his arm to flag down a taxi. In mere moments a taxi arrived and Sherlock instructed the cabbie to take him to the London Coliseum.

Outwardly Sherlock still appeared calm and aloof. However internally, he was in turmoil. I knew John would attract trouble dressed like that, looking so muscular and handsome in his black jeans and new sports coat. He's probably found a new date already, a better date. I will have to obliterate the competition.

What if I am too late? What if he is angry because I didn't accompany him when he invited me? Perhaps he will forgive me if I pout; that almost always seems to work.

What if I arrive late and can not be seated? Perhaps the new jacket I bought him is too much; what if John is offended by the gift? What if he doesn't like the color or the cut? Of course this jacket is much more fashionable than that old bomber jacket. And the soft leather will be comfortable and warm. What if he's already freezing to death somewhere in a derelict cab.

Sherlock could easily picture John huddled and freezing in an abandoned taxi. John's lips were probably blue and his hands were too cold to hold the phone to call Sherlock for help. Sherlock tried to call his blogger, but John didn't answer. This confirmed Sherlock's worst suspicions; John was unable to answer. He was freezing, or maybe John's taxi was in an accident.

Good God, John could be kidnapped. He hasn't been kidnapped for weeks; he is overdue for a kidnapping. He may be tied to a chair, his big blue eyes watching helplessly as the kidnapper approaches. Waiting in vain for me, since I am en-route to a ridiculous ballet. Sherlock pictured John tied up and beaten, his lip bleeding. I will kill the kidnapper if he lays so much as a finger on my blogger.

Sherlock sighed despairingly. I was right. Relationships are too confusing, and I shouldn't waste time with this nonsense.

"Can you at least try to hurry; I would like to arrive at the theater sometime this evening," Sherlock snapped at the cabbie. Sherlock needed to get to the theater so that he could begin searching for the missing and possibly kidnapped man.

Sherlock tried to retreat into his mind palace but thoughts of John kept distracting him. Stupid John, thought Sherlock. Maybe this can still be a date, maybe tonight is the night I can touch his lips. Stupid John and his stupid, sexy lips, thought Sherlock as he nervously drummed the fingers of one hand on the seat. He gently rubbed his lips with the long fingers of his other hand; he imagined John's stupid, sexy lips gently caressing his own.

**A/N **John and Sherlock both insist that they have more to say than I originally planned. I guess they are just nervous about their first date together. This is my way of saying that this story is writing itself and getting carried away with itself. Anyway, I will need a couple more chapters to finish this 'fic'. Thank you for reading this. Thanks to all reviewed and all who are following. Please review or comment : )


	3. Chapter 3

**Ritual Disclaimer **I don't own Sherlock or John, they rightfully belong to ACD, Messrs Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC

**Chapter 3**

John found his aisle seats in the front row of the dress circle. The tickets for tonight's performance originally belonged to Mike Stamford. Well, Mike was right about these being good seats, thought John.

The theater, decorated opulently in red and gold, was blazing with light. The audience glittered like peacocks wearing gems. John was decidedly out of his element.

He sat uncomfortably in his more casual black jeans and nodded politely to the older woman, wearing diamonds and fur, who sat next to him

I don't know what I'm trying to prove by sitting here. I don't belong here and I don't like these snobs. I should skip out and find a good pub.

John studied the enormous arch over the stage; Mike had told him it was impressive. John tried to feel impressed.

Buried in his musings, John almost didn't notice the man who sat down next to him. Then John smiled expectantly; trust Sherlock to turn everything into a game.

The smile froze on John's lips. He tried hard not grimace at the very tall, handsome black man sitting next to John.

"Dr. Sam Bigsby, I haven't seen you in ages," said John to the former athlete who was starting to go to seed with a developing paunch.

"Imagine you here John, I figured you more the football and beer type. I must say you clean up well," said Bigsby patronizingly.

"Well you never know now, do you?" said John with a fake smile plastered on his face. John blushed at the veiled insult and the overly friendly arm that had just snaked across his shoulder.

"John Watson, I see _you_ in the news, off and on," Dr. Bigsby. "Bit of scandal now and then. Who'd of thought, the righteous John Watson involved in a bit of scandal? You know the pictures don't do you justice."

Oh for heaven's sake, the old snob is ogling me in public.

"And where is that famous detective of yours?" continued Bigsby, rubbing salt into the wound.

"Probably out detecting," lied John, continuing to force a small smile. Oh my God, I hated Bigsby in Uni, and I think I hate him even more now.

"Oh and he was probably your date. You're all alone then. l'll join you and keep you company, Johnny," he leered and hugged John closely. "We have a lot of catching up to do, Johnny."

"Well, where is that beautiful wife of yours, a fashion model isn't she? She must be here?" John looked hopefully out over the sparkling audience.

"Oh she's over there somewhere with her handlers and ass-kissers. She'll never notice I'm gone," he gave John a significant look. "She never does, John," he added in a low, husky tone.

"Erm," said John uncomfortably. He noticed his neighbor shaking her blue-haired head sympathetically.

"John I find it so interesting that you've become more adventuresome in your dating. I always fancied you in Uni. And tonight you are quite the eyeful," said the hulking doctor.

Right, I've had enough of this, thought the ex-army doctor.

"Well Bigsby it's been a pleasure to see you, but I think maybe you should rejoin your wife and her entourage. My date should be here in a few minutes so if you don't mind…" John slipped under the burly mans arm and out into the aisle. John danced around an older couple, keeping them between him and the now standing Bigsby.

Then the beautiful young fashion model appeared, towering over John in her six-inch Louboutin shoes. She glared at John and at her husband. She took her husband's arm to leave. Then she turned, to snarl at John. "Keep your paws off him, you little bitch."

John blinked in shock. He had never been called a little bitch before. As the lights began to slowly dim, the Bigsby's sailed away followed by their sycophant flotilla. John valiantly ignored the stares of his fellow theater goers and returned to his seat blushing as red as the velvet curtains hanging below the impressive proscenium arch on stage.

After Sherlock checked his and John's coats, he walked into the hall. People were mostly overdressed thought Sherlock; he looked scornfully at their satins, jewels and even some fools wearing tuxedos. Sherlock was effortlessly elegant in his black fitted suit. He also wore his favorite purple shirt. It just happened to be John's favorite shirt too. Sherlock noticed everything, and he had certainly noticed that John was much more attentive and receptive when Sherlock wore the purple shirt.

John should be easy to spot in all this gaudy nonsense thought Sherlock. Indeed, he quickly spotted a familiar blond head that was being absorbed by a tall black ex-athlete. Sherlock quickly deduced that the man was another surgeon, probably orthopedic, who was past his peak athletically and professionally. The man was married but carried on blatant homosexual affairs; clearly he was ready to begin one with Sherlock's blogger.

I knew John would get picked up, but this quickly? How can John be so easy?

Perhaps I should warn John that his new boyfriend is married and not as successful as he leads people to think? Then again perhaps I should leave John to sort it out as he sees fit. I've ruined enough of his dates. Sherlock tried to convince himself that he was not hurt and disappointed.

Sherlock began to back out and watched as John slipped under the leviathans arm. John impressively used other patrons as cover. Oh ho, the game is on. Sherlock began to push his way toward his embattled blogger.

The leviathan and his spitting wife passed Sherlock who accidentally on purpose stepped on the large doctor's ankle. "Sorry, Excuse me," said Sherlock carelessly.

John had just turned to sit back down, when his arm was grabbed again.

"Look, just leave off before I knock you out, right here in the hall." John turned to face his pursuer and met Sherlock's steely blue eyes, raised brows and superior smirk.

"I think I am beginning to see where you may have encountered problems with dating, John. First you flirt with another man, and then you threaten to punch your date. Isn't that a bit awkward?" Sherlock slid gracefully into his seat while John crashed into his with a scowl.

"I did not flirt with Sam Bigsby. He's the last man on earth I'd flirt with for your information, Mr. Genius. Furthermore, the threat was obviously not meant for you, it was for Dr. big-headed Bigsby or his harpy wife," growled John softly, not wanting to attract any more attention.

However, John wasn't finished yet. "This is entirely your fault Sherlock. You left me alone and see what happened? I was ogled by the biggest dick, that I ever met at Uni, and attacked by a Nazi fashionista who called me a little bitch! Let me tell you, I was in the army for over ten years and called every name in the book but never _a little bitch._"

"Yes John I admit it was my fault," said Sherlock. John froze in mid-sputter. Sherlock never admitted that he was wrong, never. "I realized as soon as you left the flat that I should have accompanied you. You will attract every wolf in London wearing that outfit; you need me to protect you."

Sherlock had released John's arm, but now he laid his hand over John's hand possessively. John slowly processed Sherlock's statement and finally began to blush furiously.

He didn't know where to start. How would John be able to attract wolves, and since when did John need protection? Why was Sherlock almost holding his hand? Was the date on again? And what the heck is wrong with my clothes? They must be really awful.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he whispered in Sherlock's ear since the audience had become quiet. The theater lights were now out, and the conductor was approaching the podium.

John's breath in his ear electrified Sherlock. So now it was Sherlock's turn to respond. In fact, it was time to initiate one of the many John Watson Seduction Protocols that Sherlock had stored in his mind palace over the last months.

Clearly the situation warranted immediate action. Seemingly overnight John had gone from straight and unavailable to ready for all comers. Sherlock was still a bit shaken by the vision of John under the arm of the hulking athletic surgeon.

No he could not afford to lose a moment. Sherlock cast aside all doubts; John would be his. Sherlock opted for the direct yet subtle approach.

Besides, decided the consulting detective, turn about was fair play. "Nothing is wrong with your attire; you are very handsome in it. In fact, you are delectable," his low baritone hummed into John's ear. John stiffened in his seat with the unexpected arousal.

The music had been playing for several minutes before John was able to get his thoughts under some semblance of control. Sherlock Holmes said he was my date. He said I was handsome. Good God, he said I was delectable. John blushed as his heart started pounding furiously again.

Sherlock had kept his pale long-fingered hand drooped loosely over John's hand. It was both comfortable and yet convenient for monitoring the way John's pulse raced when he whispered in John's ear. Now his pulse was racing again as he turned to Sherlock with wide eyes.

Sherlock pulled John closer and leaned toward his ear. This time his lips actually feathered over John's ear as Sherlock casually whispered, "Is this your first time?" John's breath hitched, and he turned his palm over to clutch Sherlock's hand tightly. "I mean first time at the ballet, John." He breathed John's name into John's ear, slowly, seductively. John's handgrip tightened until it was almost painful.

John took another minute to still his rapid breathing. Who would have guessed that the consulting detective would be such tease? Oh for God's sake John, you are Three Continents Watson. Make an effort: fight back.

John leaned over to whisper into Sherlock's ear, the soft curls danced over John's face. Not fair, not fair, thought John as the heady lavender scent of Sherlock's shampoo invaded his senses. He soldiered on bravely.

"Yes, this is my first ballet. I was looking forward to the men in tights. Where are they?" asked John letting his lips tickle Sherlock's ear.

Oh yeah, that got the World's Only Consulting Detective. Sherlock's smirk had slipped and his mouth was parted in a quiet gasp. John smugly watched Sherlock's pale lips; his stupid, adorable cupid's bow twitched

John sat back to enjoy the ballet until the detective's lips were whispering at his ear again. "Men in tights? So that's why you came to the ballet? I thought you weren't gay, John?"

"I was kidding about the men in tights, idiot. And I'm only gay part-time," whispered John flustered again but at least able to flirt semi-coherently.

"That makes no sense John, what do you mean part-time?" Sherlock asked.

John had no idea what he meant since he had made up the answer just to confuse the detective. John finally leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear. "It means I 'm gay when I want to be, but it's pretty much limited towards one man." John all but kissed Sherlock's ear. John felt smugly superior after that shot. Yeah, Three Continents strikes again.

John turned to see the blue-haired lady smiling knowingly at him. She leaned over and whispered in John's other ear, "This one seems much nicer dear. I'd advise you to keep him, unless you're interested in older women."

She patted John's other hand once and returned to watching the ballet. She was pleased to note that she had made the appealing blond man blush darker than either of the tall handsome men who pursued him.

John fixed his eyes on the stage wondering if the whole world had just lost its collective mind.

**A/N **Thank youto those you have reviewed. Thank you all who are reading this little fic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ritual Disclaimer **I don't own anything Sherlockian.

**Chapter 4**

During the break, John and Sherlock finally let go of each other's hand and walked to the lobby. Feeling unusually solicitous, Sherlock went to get a sorbet for John. Upon his return, he found that oaf of a surgeon wrapping his arm around Sherlock's blogger. This is intolerable, thought Sherlock.

Sherlock could also see John's left hand clenching into a fist, a sure sign that John was ready to hit the insufferable Bigsby. Theoretically, Sherlock approved of such an action. However, he quickly determined that a physical altercation would either result in embarrassment or imprisonment for John. Neither result was acceptable.

Sherlock barged through the crowded lobby knocking aside anyone who ventured into his path. He pushed himself in between John and Bigsby. Sherlock did a half twirl and ended standing with his arm firmly around John's waist.

John was more than a bit confused about how Sherlock managed that maneuver but was reasonably satisfied with the result. As bonus, Sherlock handed John a dish of lemon sorbet.

John relaxed he fist, and he tasted the sorbet. Oddly, he noticed both Sherlock and Bigsby staring as he licked the cold lemon ice off the spoon. Weird, very weird thought John.

Sherlock became aware of Bigsby's shared interest in John's enjoyment of the sorbet. Sherlock assumed a pleasant smile, and introduced himself to the large beefy surgeon. Then Sherlock informed the interloper that he had once had to kill an assassin with his bare hands to protect John. Bigsby turned a bit grey around his mouth. He left with a muttered excuse.

"Well that was interesting," said John as he leaned into his best friend.

"No, it was necessary. Please attempt to stay out of trouble the rest of the evening John," said Sherlock somewhat menacingly. He did not release John.

"Did you really kill…" began John.

"Don't ask," said the detective distantly.

"O-Kay" said John uneasily.

A pretty blonde fluttered over smiling at John, "Why John, what a surprise I haven't seen you in months."

John smiled in greeting, "Hello Mary, don't you look lovely." John found it difficult to continue the conversation because the detective next to him was suddenly squeezing the air out of his lungs. John fought for air and a clever idea. The desperation of impeding hypoxia inspired him.

John carefully yet firmly elbowed his possessive date in the ribs. As the death grip released, he quickly blurted out, "Mary Morstan, please meet my _date_, Sherlock Holmes."

Mary's face fell, but Sherlock's face beamed. Way to go Three Continents, two birds with one stone. John actually bounced on his toes in appreciation of his own diplomatic handling of the delicate situation. After a minute of stilted small talk, Mary left to rejoin her party.

"Didn't you date her John?" asked the smirking detective. "I really don't think she's in your league."

"Why yes, I did. It didn't work out. I was actually interested in someone else, if you must know." John began to lick his spoon again. "Mmmm," he moaned innocently.

Sherlock was enthralled. The closer he watched John Watson, the more interesting he became. John's tongue snuck out searching for more sorbet. "Mmmm," said John again.

It was getting too hot. John was seriously provoking him now, yet Sherlock felt that actually attacking John in public would be a bit not good. John would have to stop licking that spoon, and the moaning must cease, at least until Sherlock could attend to it properly.

"John stop that," snapped Sherlock who still watched, mesmerized.

"Stop what?" asked the confused doctor. "Silly git. First you squeeze me near to death then you snarl at me." John began to bite his lower lip in confusion.

Oh for heaven's sake, now he's at that lip again. And it's mine. That is my lip. No doubt the upper lip is nice too, but the lower lip is plumper; it's perfect. I should claim it right now in front of the whole crowd.

John noticed as Sherlock's brows dropped and his eyes developed a predatory sparkle. John licked his lips nervously.

Fuel to the fire, thought the World's Only Consulting Detective. Sherlock tightened his grip around John's waist and leaned in to claim his prize.

Sherlock," said John preëmptively. "We'll go take our seats, shall we?"

Sherlock drew back regretfully, "Must we, John? The weather is quite dreadful…" began Sherlock with a manufactured pout.

John's resolve weakened at the sight of his date's out-thrust lower lip, but he remembered that he was a soldier. He was made of sterner stuff.

"Sherlock, we came all this way and you look so nice. I think we should stay for the rest of the ballet," countered John, using the combination of logic, compliments and his decisive officer's voice to overcome The Pout.

"John, do you really want to return to that kind but predatory woman who sat next to you?" returned Sherlock with a smirk and a knowing glance from the corner of his eye. Superior knowledge should overcome his stubborn doctor.

"How? How can you possibly know…" said John blushing.

Sherlock was impossible. Of course, John could not resist that look for long. He wanted to remove that all-knowing smirk with a passionate, toe curling kiss,but now was not the time.

John had only one weapon left in his arsenal, the puppy dog look. He dropped his gaze sadly, his brow furrowed. "Nevermind, look if you aren't having a good time, we'll just go." John licked his lips just once for good measure.

Sherlock could not watch the light go out of those blue eyes a second time tonight; he quietly acknowledged defeat with a sigh. "Come along John, we need to take our seats."

John proudly took Sherlock's arm, and led him to his seat. He was going to complete The Mission. He would take Sherlock on an official date, and then would confess his feelings. Only then could he give in to his desires and give that cupid's bow the treatment it so rightly deserved. That was how it should be done according to Captain John Watson. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing.

The blue-haired lady suppressed a smile at John's satisfied strut. When John settled, she winked at Sherlock. The detective smirked at his date, then winked back vastly pleased with himself.

"And John, stop looking so smug. There is no need to look quite so vain when you take my arm." Sherlock whispered in John's ear. His lips lightly caressed John's ear.

John responded appropriately by tilting his head toward Sherlock's lips and blushing a brilliant claret color. However, he was still capable of coherent responses.

"Well I am with the best looking man in the room, of course I'm proud," said John.

Sherlock could hardly suppress his enthusiasm. Clearly, item 17, whispering and playing with John's ear, was the most effective protocol, and it was very pleasant for Sherlock. It was definitely not boring.

I shall be merciless. I will use item 17 throughout the rest of the performance. I will gain access to those lips by way of John's oh-so-tempting ear. He leaned in towards John in order to whisper information on the finer points of conducting.

John paid strict attention to the whispering in his ear and the occasional kiss his ear received from those coveted lips. However he could not remember a single word of Sherlock's instruction. Judging by the smirk on his face, the World's Only Consulting Detective was well aware of John's inability to concentrate on his music lesson.

John was content to hand this round to his detective. He grasped Sherlock's hand and idly played his fingers over, under and around the palm and the long, tapering fingers of his date. For John, the rest of the ballet passed in a delightful blur of music, dancing and magical sensations coming from his ear and his hand.

Sherlock was content to catalog his blogger's reactions and to lay the groundwork for item 23 of the John Watson Seduction Protocol.

Sherlock also found he didn't mind John's scent (a complex mix of vanilla-scented shampoo, John's aftershave, lemon sorbet and the musky John smell). Nor did he mind the caresses that danced across his hand. He most certainly did not mind the feel of John's hair tickling his lips or the feel of John's skin when he grazed John's ear and cheek with his lips. All in all Sherlock was vastly pleased.

**A/N **I had a spot of bother writing this chapter. I wrote it four times at least. Finally, Sherlock and John took over and so Chapter 4 is finished. I suspect the boys are tired of dancing around each other and would like to just get on with the game. I still have to take the blame for all mistakes. Thanks for reading and please consider sending me your thoughts reviews. Oh and Happy Holidays.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ritual Disclaimer** I still do not own the rights to Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. (Sighs deeply)

**Chapter 5**

The Ballet was over; John Watson woke up from his lovely romantic stupor to the cold light of reality. Sherlock charged into the exiting crowd. As usual, John Watson was left behind.

John wondered, what the hell happened tonight? What was with the whispering in my ear and acting jealous and holding my hand? And now he just disappears? It must be some game to Sherlock, or God forbid, an experiment. Why do I set myself up for disappointment? Why does he always leave me behind?

John slowly made his way through the crowds of women in gold lame and festive red silks, past the men in chic tailored suits and shiny dress shoes. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John chewed his lip in frustration.

He looked over the heads of the milling socialites and trend setters but saw neither dark curls nor the elegant, slender form. Disappointed, John trudged toward the exits, silently cursing the day he met the World's Only Consulting Detective/ Big Headed Git.

His mobile phone vibrated angrily in his pocket. Oh for heaven's sake now what?

**Idiot. Come to the cloakroom at once. SH**

**Bloody git. Try letting me know where you are off to, just once. JW**

**Waiting... SH**

John found his detective already ensconced within his long, dark Belstaff coat. Sherlock was just smoothing down the ends of his long scarf.

"John, there is an actual blizzard outside, as I warned you of earlier," said Sherlock, his lips curled up in a tiny smirk at John's consternation. "In other words, you need your winter jacket John."

"Well Mr. I-See-Everything, you apparently did not notice that I left my jacket at home; so I will just have to brave the elements as is," said John stoutly. "Won't be the first time. I once got stranded in the mountains of southern Afghanistan during a storm for days with nothing but my fatigues and a shepherd's wool vest. I had to sleep with goats and a mangy dog to just to stay warm." John smiled disarmingly.

Sherlock was prepared with the Protocol; he shook his head at his blogger. "No doubt you were taking care of one or more wounded who you bravely refused to abandon. No doubt you saved their lives while risking your own. I see from your blushing that I am quite correct. You Dr. Watson are a hero. I once said, quite mistakenly, that there are no heroes. Of course, you almost immediately proved me wrong at that swimming pool, and the more I know you, the more I see how truly heroic you are."

Stunned, John also turned the color of a fine Cabernet. He could find no words to say.

Sherlock, bouncing easily on his toes, was thrilled at the effect. Item 8, honest compliments to ones intended, had laid the good doctor low. Sherlock would be sure to give many, many more compliments to his blogger. I never thought that seducing John would be this interesting or this fun, thought the detective.

Now it is time for item 6, a welcome gift. "Very well John, I have no wish to embarrass you, although everything that I said stands. However, I must correct your error, because I do in fact see everything. Obviously, I noticed that you left your overcoat at home. Aware of the impending snowstorm, I have purchased a jacket for you so that you will be warm and comfortable on the way home."

Sherlock held open the new jacket for John, who stuttered, "Sherlock, you don't, can't just buy me a coat. I mean why? It's too much, too expensive; how do you know it will fit?"

John soon found himself putting his arms into the sleeves. It was simply cut but constructed of soft brown leather. It was quintessential John Watson. Of course it was a perfect fit.

"Don't spout nonsense John. Obviously I can and did buy you a coat. It is a perfect fit; naturally I know your measurements. Really John, I determined the measurements of The Woman within mere minutes. You are vastly more important; how can you imagine that I wouldn't know your measurements? Now if you will allow me…" Sherlock pulled a sapphire blue scarf out of the pocket of John's new coat and draped it around his doctor's neck. He bent down toward the shorter blond, "The color suits you John; it matches your eyes. Perhaps it will remind you that I am indeed concerned for your welfare."

They stood together for several moments, Sherlock's hands entwined in John's scarf. The crowd was forgotten, and intense, icy blue eyes stared into the darker blue eyes of the ex-soldier.

A hand gently prodded Sherlock, "Perhaps it's none of my business, but the elegant harpy is approaching. You might like to escort your very handsome boyfriend out of here, before she descends upon you," said John's admirer, the blue-haired lady.

John looked around for the enemy, with furrowed brows and pursed lips. His fists were already clenched tight. To avoid an unpleasant altercation, which would surely not advance the Seduction, Sherlock pulled his hostile warrior out of the cloakroom by his arm, pulled him through the lobby and out into the storm.

Still holding John securely by his arm, Sherlock went to hail a taxi.

"It's no use Sherlock," yelled John over the howling wind, "in this crowd and this storm, you'll never get a taxi. We should just head for the tubes."

"John, just get into the cab," barked the detective. He held the taxi's door open for his companion.

John blinked, then slid into the cab, which had magically appeared. Sherlock slid in after him, giving instructions to the cabbie.

"I don't understand how you do that. I really don't," muttered John.

Sherlock tilted his head and glanced toward his companion, "Excuse me?"

"You, you put your hand up, yell taxi, and one magically appears. One always appears," grumbled John.

"I fail to understand your confusion, John. How else would one hail a cab?" asked Sherlock.

"No, I could stand there for twenty minutes with my hand up and never see a taxi. You just…oh nevermind. Just forget about it," said John, biting his lip. Sherlock watched John's lip intently.

John slid closer; after all, tonight was still The Night. Time to stop being overwhelmed and insecure. Time to turn on the Three Continent Charm. "Um, Sherlock," said the doctor, "Thank you for the jacket; it is very, very nice. It's perfect. And you know how you say that relationships and romance are not your area?"

Sherlock looked away, brows lowered and lips pressed together tight. This did not bode well; John is going to let me down politely but decisively. Oh God, was it the gift; was it too much? Is it me? Of course it's me. I am disappointing him; I can't give John what he wants. I am not romantic enough or attractive enough…

"Sherlock, I do wish that you'd pay attention when I'm talking to you," said John a bit wistfully.

"Yes John. You were saying?" Sherlock leaned down to show he was listening.

"I said, correct me if I have mistaken your motives, but that was the most romantic thing I've ever heard. So. There." John nodded his head. After a moment, he clarified, "The scarf thing I mean." John nodded his head once again and pursed his lips, ready for rejection, derisive laughter or (please God) affectionate agreement.

"I am pleased to say that you have not mistaken me John," Sherlock's deep voice rumbled in John's ear. With those words, John's heart began to race.

They rode in silence; their legs were lightly touching. After a bit, Three Continents Watson courageously ventured to take his date's hand in his. Sherlock smirked and, using item three from the John Watson Seduction Protocol, caressed his bloggers hand with his thumb. Feeling unusually content, Sherlock hummed Tchaikovsky softly to his blogger.

**A/N** I am almost positively sure that the next chapter is the last; unless of course SH or JW make last minute changes. Again. BTW-HAPPY HOLIDAYS


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** Final chapter! Hope you enjoy this and thanks to those who read, reviewed and followed this story.

**Ritual Disclaimer **Don't own anything Sherlockian. All rights belong to ACD, Messrs Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC.

**Chapter 6**

The cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street. John was ready to pull out his wallet as usual when he saw Sherlock pay the cabbie. Then Sherlock held the cab door open for the doctor. The detective hurried up the steps and unlocked the door. John hesitated when Sherlock held that door for him. It was very un-Sherlockian behavior, which made the doctor nervous.

"What are you up to, Sherlock," asked John warily.

"Come along John; don't be so dull. It's freezing out here, and the snow is getting worse," snapped Sherlock. He needed his doctor in the flat and he wanted him very close, preferably on Sherlock's lap in fact.

"Well when you put it like that, I can hardly resist," John snapped back. He was more confused than usual by Sherlock's mercurial mood changes.

Once inside, Sherlock raced up the stairs; John followed him warily. The pressure mounted for the former army doctor. So much might change when John confessed his love for Sherlock.

Nevertheless, the doctor stepped into the dark flat determined to complete his mission. He began by picking Sherlock's coat up off the floor. He switched on the fairy lights and wandered about the flat. OK Watson, stop delaying things.

Meanwhile the detective in question threw himself down onto the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. It was time thought Sherlock; it was time for John Watson to surrender his lips to Sherlock.

"John, I think you need to sit down," said the detective.

Oh God, thought John, I've gotten it all muddled. It's time for the "this was amusing but I'm still married to my work speech". John sat numbly in his chair, playing with the buttons on Sherlock's coat. His rehearsed declaration of love went AWOL.

"John, I'm not an expert in dating but I think you are supposed to sit next to me," said Sherlock; he pulled his lower lip in shyly.

John pursed his lips. He felt slightly reassured because Sherlock was still talking about dating.

John's not moving to sit next to me, thought Sherlock succumbing to anxiety. What if John has changed his mind? Snogging on the couch, item 18, should logically follow the nuzzling of John's ear, item 17. Good God, perhaps too much time has elapsed. Should I restart item 17? But how can I if he sits all the way over there? Sherlock resorted to the full pout. It had to work.

John stared at the pouting detective. God I should just kiss him and get it over with. No, no, no that's not right. I could scare him or drive him away. This is serious business. This is about love and respect, and it is not about lust. Well not only about lust. For God sake Watson get control of yourself. There's a right and proper way to do this and by God I will do it the right and proper way.

If only I could remember what I wanted to say. I should have written it down, thought John despairingly. His face set in his no flat, nonsense officer's expression.

"Right!" said John loudly, startling Sherlock. Sherlock sat up straight, and his wide eyes looked apprehensively at John.

John stood rigidly at attention; he held Sherlock's coat in front of him like a shield. "Sherlock, you are my best friend and I would never want to risk that friendship. Your friendship is just too important to me. Now I want to tell you something, and if you don't like it we'll just forget I ever said anything and you can delete it. Is that OK?"

"John I'm not sure I understand," said Sherlock. "If you are uncomfortable with dating…"

"I like you Sherlock. I like you a lot," John continued to talk, although his mouth had somehow gone dry. He started pacing, and he still clutched Sherlock's coat to his chest. "Um, I like you as a friend obviously but um, I feel more than that too. I think you should know that I sort of accidentally fell in love with you; that's it. I love you." John pivoted to face Sherlock. "And furthermore, I think, I mean, I hope that you like me a bit too, but if I'm wrong, please don't be mad. Just say the word and I'll never mention it; we can still be friends, right? So, do you still want me to sit next to you; or would you prefer me to leave the room?" John ended his announcement in a rush. He stood in front of Sherlock with both a half-smile and a deeply furrowed brow.

John loves me? Sherlock was a bit dazed, but he persevered; item 18 must surely be the correct next step.

"John, I don't ever want you to leave," said Sherlock firmly.

John's smile grew.

"John, I realize that you have much more dating experience than I, but my research indicates that we'd both be more comfortable on the sofa," said Sherlock with a tentative smile to his blogger. "Together."

The ex-soldier nodded and walked over. He sat down slowly next to Sherlock. He licked his lips nervously.

Mine. Those lips are mine. The detective lifted his coat out of his blogger's arms and set it aside. Then he unzipped John's new jacket and pulled it off. Sherlock finally took a hold of John's new blue scarf.

"John I like you in that scarf. It perfectly matches your eyes. It keeps you warm. It is very useful." Sherlock tugged on the useful scarf to bring his blogger in close.

John was drowning in Sherlock's silver-blue eyes; he even noted that the detective's pupils were dilating. However he found it increasingly hard to speak. Finally, John managed to say,"Eyes."

"Hmmm?", asked Sherlock. He studied John's blown pupils with approval.

"Your eyes are beautiful, like you," John managed to say.

John licked his lips again. Enough. Sherlock closed the distance. He finally kissed those lips; he finally tasted those lips. He pulled the scarf tighter bringing John as closer as possible.

John was speechless but returned his kisses. John loved kissing; he was familiar with kissing. And kissing a man instead of a woman did not seem to be a problem at all, quite the contrary. John had never felt so turned on by kissing before.

Sherlock's hot, demanding lips pressed hard against his own. John's tongue snuck out to lick the detective's lips and Sherlock took full advantage of John's parted lips. He gently bit John's lower lip, he pulled it into his mouth and claimed it for his own.

John moaned softly and put his arms around the thin detective. His arms belonged around Sherlock. Sherlock tugged and pulled his blogger onto his lap. John caressed Sherlock's arms with his hands and licked Sherlock's lips across the Cupid's bow. His tongue met Sherlock's tongue. John moaned loudly.

John froze when he realized he was moaning out loud. Sherlock pulled back.

Sherlock tilted his head to one side, "Have I done something wrong?" he asked uncertainly.

"No. God no. You're perfect. I was just a bit carried away and I thought you might not like the noise," said John. He pinched the bridge of his nose feeling like an idiot.

"John you're an idiot," said Sherlock in is low baritone. "I want to hear you moan. You are mine, and I want to make you moan."

Sherlock advanced again claiming John's lips, then he deepened the kiss laying claim to John's mouth. John pulled away for air and kissed his detective along his jaw and down his neck. John moaned again after Sherlock began kissing his ear in earnest and nibbling on his sensitive ear lobe. Sherlock couldn't decide whether to continue the attack on the ear or return to the delectable lip.

John, the seasoned soldier, knew exactly what he wanted. He continued his assault on the detective's long neck.

Sherlock's mobile emitted a text message alert. John groaned in deep frustration.

Sherlock looked at the text.

**Banker found stabbed to death in a locked vault. Security camera showed he entered alone at 5:10 pm just after the bank lobby was closed for business. His wife reported him missing at 8:00 pm and the vault has just been opened. The deceased is wearing an elf costume that he was not wearing when he entered the vault. Can you come at once? Lestrade**

Sherlock then showed the text to John. John licked his lips. Then his pulled his lower lip in to chew on it. Sherlock quickly made his decision.

**John and I are stuck in a delicate negotiation. We will attend the crime scene in 2.2 hours. SH**

**Now would be better. Lestrade**

Sherlock looked up from his mobile phone to watch as John bit his lip.

The simple strategy is usually the most effective, thought John. He glanced to be sure that Sherlcok was watching, and John licked his lip again. Note to self, thought the ex-army doctor, must buy more lip balm.

The detective tore his gaze away from his bloggers swollen, reddened lips. He quickly typed out his response on to his phone.

**Very delicate and important negotiations. 2.4 hours now due to interruption. Take it or leave it. SH**

**Are you alright Sherlock? Lestrade**

**I'm fine. 2.75 hours. SH**

**Alright. See you then. Lestrade**

"A new case?" asked John, licking his lip yet again. His dark blue eyes searched Sherlock's clear blue eyes. "Are we leaving now?"

"Yes a new case, obviously. No we do not have to leave yet," said Sherlock, his voice even deeper than usual. "The crime scene can wait for a couple of hours. I, _we_ are still busy John. I believe that I was demonstrating my approval and even reciprocation of your recent declaration."

"Couldn't you just say 'I love you too'," said John smiling.

"I believe I just did John," said Sherlock smugly. He tightened his hold on his doctor and returned to John's lips. John surrendered his lips gladly.

As he slowly drew John's lip in between his lips, Sherlock moaned, "Mine, all mine."

"Always," answered John.

**The End**

**A/N Happy Holidays to All**


End file.
